The Perfect Job
by Kkarrie
Summary: The offer of another job causes Lassiter to think about his place in the Santa Barbara Police Department. He could take this new job... the perfect job. And everyone would be fine without him... right?


It would be the perfect job. That was the phrase that echoed through Carlton Lassiter's mind as he stared at the brown pool of his morning coffee. He had been offered a job in a town outside of Santa Barbara. He would be supervising gun training, arresting people, not to mention the higher pay grade. On top of that, he wouldn't have to deal with any psychic consultants. It would be the perfect job.

Lassiter hadn't told anyone about the job offer. He knew what would happen if he did. O'Hara would tear up, Chief Vick would beg him not to leave. McNab would give him a sappy story about how much Lassiter meant to him. He would not be swayed by their emotions. He hadn't even decided whether or not he would take the job... the perfect job.

He looked around the station. He'd gotten there at 5:30, an hour earlier than normal. He told himself it was because he had extra paperwork to catch up on. He told himself it had nothing to do with the unsettled feeling in his stomach every time he thought about taking the job... the perfect job.

O'Hara had gotten there at seven. She had greeted Lassiter with her normal, too cheery for the morning, smile. Lassiter had grunted in response, focusing on the paperwork at hand. He supposed the two of them had become better partners over the past five years. She was always poking her nose into his business, which meant that she knew more about him then most people. Plus, she always prattled on about her own personal life, which meant Lassiter knew more about her then he wanted to know.

Lassiter watched her now as she meticulously went through her reports, signing each one with careful deliberation and perfect penmanship. There had been a brief time in their partnership where Lassiter wasn't sure if he would see her doing that again. She'd been kidnapped, tied high above the city and left to die. Lassiter had put his badge on the line running off to find her without the chief's permission. He had then sacrificed his glock to save her. He had even hugged her when it was all over, breaking his own personal no hugs rule. He had hugged her more than once. He told himself it was because it made her feel happy. Patrolling the streets with a sad O'Hara was never a fun experience.

Lassiter scowled to himself and tried to focus back on his paperwork. He managed to get through another page of text before he started letting his gaze wander the station again. After O'Hara had arrived at seven, McNab had walked through the door at six after. He had been babbling about being late and how it would never happen again. Lassiter knew it would, it always did on Thursdays. But the rookie cop put in enough extra hours on the weekends and late at night, that the chief let it slide.

The rookie was now at the front desk, answering the phone and chatting with visitors. He was like a giant puppy. A big Great Dane puppy whose feet were too big for him and who wanted to please everyone. He always had a smile on his face. He knew how to make Lassiter the perfect cup of coffee. To be fair, McNab had done his fair share of actual police work as well. Solving the occasional case when it was thrown his way, patrolling the streets and making neighborhoods safe. He'd seen his fair share of action. He'd almost been killed by a serial killer right before his wedding, assaulted by Yin, blown up a couple of times. Lassiter half smiled at the thought of the explosions, it had taken weeks for McNab's eyebrow to grow back completely. With everything that was on his record, if McNab stuck on the path he was on now he would be able to take the detective's exam soon. Then he would have the perfect job.

Lassiter's smile faded slightly and he looked back at his computer screen where the email offering him ihis/i perfect job was still open. He hadn't replied yet. He knew he would love the job, that wasn't the question. Guns, arrests and getting to yell at people, it was what he did now, without the annoyance of Shawn Spencer. He wasn't sure what was holding him back.

Lassiter looked over to the chief's office. Her door was slightly open and he could see her talking on the phone. If anyone was to blame for Spencer's involvement with the police department, it was Karen Vick. She had been encouraging the psychic's antics from case number one. She had even hired Henry Spencer to oversee his son. Meaning that both Spencer's were at the station on any given day of the week. Occasionally Lassiter thought that Karen Vick's goal in life was to make him miserable.

Trying not to think of Spencer made his head hurt, the man could cause headaches even when he wasn't there. To make himself not think about Spencer made Lassiter thought of Guster. He had seen Guster protect his friend on countless occasions, he'd made sacrifices for his consultant partner. He had even assisted Lassiter on occasion, although the man's endless knowledge of seemingly inane trivia was a little grating at times.

Lassiter sighed and picked up his empty mug to make himself another cup of coffee. He could feel O'Hara watching him as he crossed the station. It was like she knew something was different, thankfully she wouldn't pry, that much.

The chief caught his eye as he passed her door and she gave him a knowing look. Lassiter had made damn sure not to tell anyone about his offer, but it was as if they all knew.

What difference did that make? Lassiter frowned to himself as he poured the coffee into his mug. It wasn't like they cared whether he was there or not. He wasn't the DJ at the department Christmas party, or the coordinator for the softball team. He was just a detective, a good one, one of the best, but he wasn't involved with the feelings of those around him.

He emptied his three creams and four sugars into his coffee. His therapist had told him to cut back on them, but Lassiter had fallen back into his ritual of the past ten years after getting the job offer... the perfect job offer.

"Is everything alright, sir?" McNab's voice startled Lassiter and made the detective drop the last packet of sugar straight into his cup.

"Damn it, McNab." Lassiter grumbled as he fished the now soggy paper out of his coffee. He glanced over at the rookie. McNab looked ready to crawl under a rock and die, but for some reason Lassiter didn't feel like giving him a lecture today.

He walked back to his desk without another word. He looked over his email again. That job wouldn't have rookies who made him drop sugar packets. He wouldn't have to fish them out of his coffee again if he took the job... the perfect job.

They would be fine without him, Lassiter reasoned. The chief would replace him with someone, maybe O'Hara. She had learned a lot since she'd started working with him. Spencer and Guster would continue to be perpetual children and McNab would find a new detective to bother.

Everyone would be fine without him. Victoria certainly was. She'd been fine without him for the past seven years. If he left Santa Barbara maybe he would be fine too. If he took the job... the perfect job.

There was a part of him that told him this idea was crazy. He had started his career with the SBPD and there was part of him that wanted to finish his career there, either by being gunned down protecting civilians or retiring when he was too blind to pass his weapons tests. Well, when he couldn't lift a gun. Lassiter could hit the dark side of the moon if he was pointed in the right direction.

Sometimes that part of Lassiter was bigger then other times. Right now that part was big. He would never admit that he would miss the people he worked with, but the idea of having to teach new people how to deal with him was unappealing.

When Spencer had waltzed through the station yesterday and ruined the good mood Lassiter had been in, that part had been very small. Spencer had told him to wipe the "Lassismirk" off his face because there were dead people in the train station. Spencer had been right, of course. A quick ruling of a murder/suicide had solved that case in record time. Of course, Spencer had given them the clue that solved everything, just like he always did.

Lassiter was a good detective. In fact he was the best detective, that is why he was head detective. Except that ever since Spencer had started poking his nose around the station Lassiter had looked completely stupid. He had said "Me gusta Queso" on public television, although that was less of an embarrassment then accusing a shark of murder. Sure, Spencer had done some good things, but just because he was there didn't mean that Lassiter was a fool.

The other part of Lassiter, the part that wanted him to go was loud and fighting hard. It was almost as if the part of Lassiter that wanted to leave was very small and was clamoring to be heard like O'Hara's nephews around the dinner table.

Lassiter clicked reply on the email. He took a deep breath and started typing. He would take it. It wasn't like he would be dead. Lassiter thought to himself. He would be just four or five hours away. They could still visit him if they wanted. They would be fine without him and that was that. He wrote a few sentences in his acceptance letter and then remembered the big stack of paperwork he'd finished.

Lassiter sighed, got up and headed for the filing cabinet, ignoring the small, sad smile that O'Hara gave him. She would get over the fact that he would be gone. She was strong and she would move on. And then everyone would be fine.

He was just about the put away the last file when he heard the one noise that he hated more then anything in the world, Shawn Spencer's voice.

"Good morning, Lassidoodle!" Spencer greeted him throwing his arms in the air and walking through the station like he owned it. Guster was there too, shirt tucked in neatly as usual.

Lassiter rolled his eyes and didn't bother responding. It wouldn't be too long before Lassiter wouldn't have to deal with nick names any more.

Shawn frowned and then followed him with Gus on his heels. "What's going on, Lassie? I'm sensing not everything is right in your weird, twisted, gun toting world." He quickly looked around the desk and spotted the email on the screen. "You want to leave us, Lassie?" The humor was gone from Shawn's voice. It had been replaced by concern.

In the ruckus the psychic had caused, the chief and O'Hara had all come over to see what was going on.

Lassiter had told himself how everyone would react to the news that he would be leaving. He thought he had braced himself mentally for those reactions. But now, looking at them, he really hadn't, because their reactions weren't what Lassiter had thought they would be.

They were smiling at him, and the smiles weren't sad smiles. Damn it, they were supposed to be sad if he left them.

"Chief Scheele called me yesterday to ask about you," The chief explained. "I told him you would make an excellent candidate and that we would miss having you here."

"You'll miss me," Lassiter repeated.

"Of course," O'Hara replied. Damn it, she hadn't even teared up at all.

"You're like the weird creepy uncle in this family," Spencer told him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "And sometimes weird creepy uncles have to leave and make their own way in the world."

"In all seriousness, we just want you to be happy." Guster put in. "If being happy means going to a strange new town, yelling at men who have never fired guns before and drinking your sorrows away in the night, then we want you to do that."

Shawn nodded in agreement. "C'mon, Gus, creamscicles!"

"You know that's right," Gus fistbumped his friend and the duo left.

The chief and O'Hara left without another word. They left Lassiter feeling very confused. He had thought they would protest more, beg him not to leave. He rubbed a hand across the nape of his neck. If he took this job... the perfect job, there would be no tears.

Lassiter frowned, so what if they didn't cry? He wasn't dying. He was just moving. They wanted him to be happy, that's what Guster had said.

Lassiter sat at his desk working on more paperwork and staring at the computer screen for a long time. He didn't type anything else onto his acceptance email. He didn't reread the job offer. He'd read it so many times he could quote it at this point. He didn't realize how much time had passed until he looked up and realized the sun was setting. O'Hara's desk was clear, but her jacket was still on the back of her chair. That meant she was probably at the gun range or in the evidence room.

The chief's door was closed, blinds drawn, lights off. The only person left in the station that Lassiter bothered to talk to on a daily basis was McNab. The big dutiful puppy was still manning the front desk. Lassiter checked his watch. It was nearly six, time for McNab to head home. Lassiter grabbed the few papers that went to the front desk and walked up to it.

McNab gave him a smile, a sad smile. "About time to head out, sir." He said quietly as Lassiter signed some release forms.

Lassiter nodded, pleased to see some sadness at the thought of him leaving.

"Why do you want to leave us?" McNab asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Lassiter looked up at him. He'd never really considered that part, he just knew that the job was perfect. "The job has a higher pay grade."

"Do you need the money?"

"I'll be teaching officers proper firearms training."

"The chief has always wanted you to start a class here."

"I won't have to deal with Spencer and his stupid shenanigans."

McNab shrugged. "It seems like it would be one of those situations where it would be better to stick with the known evil. You don't really like Shawn, but you know what he's going to do and if you left, then you might run into someone that annoys you more then he does."

"The odds of that happening are very unlikely." Lassiter assured him.

"O'Hara would miss you," McNab said. "She might not show it now, but you mean a lot to her."

Lassiter scowled. "She'll be fine," He stated the thought he'd been trying to convince himself of all day. He turned and headed back to his desk.

"Will she?" McNab's voice called after him.

Lassiter scowled again and looked at the email still sitting on his computer screen. A shadow stood between him and the sun coming through the window. He looked up to see O'Hara standing in front of his desk. "What?" He snapped.

"Carlton, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be okay when you're gone." She swallowed and continued. "You've given me a lot of tools to use in my career and you've made me a better detective because of it."

"That's what I was just telling McNab," Lassiter said exasperated.

O'Hara looked confused. "Buzz is off today. It's his and Francie's wedding anniversary."

Lassiter frowned and turned to look at the front desk. It was empty and McNab was nowhere to be seen. "I literally just talked to him," Lassiter sounded confused.

"You've been sitting at your desk for the past three hours."

"No, I just walked over and signed those evidence release forms." Lassiter objected.

"Maybe you should head home for the day." Juliet was looking at her partner with concern.

Lassiter nodded slowly. "I will, I just have something to finish up."

O'Hara gave a smile and grabbed her jacket from her desk. As she passed him on her way out the door, she gave Lassiter's shoulder a small squeeze.

Lassiter smirked slightly and then turned his attention back to his email. He deleted what he had written earlier and started his response again.

_iChief Scheele,_  
_It is with regret that I must decline the job you have offered me. After much consideration, I have determined I'm needed in Santa Barbara still. Thank you again for the offer._

_Sincerely,_  
_ Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, SBPD./i_

He stretched as he stood up from his desk. His knees certainly felt like he had been sitting at his desk for three hours. As Lassiter headed for his car, he gave a small smirk and whistled a small tune. He already had a job... the perfect job.


End file.
